Begin Again
by CommanderAuri
Summary: This was a little short story I decided to write up for my Sunsinger Warlock, Mortimer Falkten, when he was first revived. I feel like this would've happened to some of the Guardians maybe and he was one of the unfortunate unlucky ones perhaps. It's kinda rough since it's been a while since I've written anything so yeah.


_So… I'm dying again…_

It was an odd sort of comfort. Least he had experience with it in the past. Or did he? Everything was too fuzzy. Edges of memories were blurry. Frankly, it was hard to focus on anything past the pain in his gut. The situation felt eerily familiar. Like knowing the name of something but not quite recalling it.  
He hardly had any time to react both times and that's what killed him. There had been a bright flash of blue light and then air was flowing painfully into his lungs. He had tried to raise one arm then the other but the limbs sluggishly responded. It was almost as if he had to remember how to move his body again. There was a voice and something small, angular and white had flown into his field of view. The glyph at what had to be its center – an eye? – was pulsing a soft blue every time it seemed to make noise. At least he thought it was making noise. He couldn't hear much through the cotton he swore was stuffed down deep in his ears though he caught snippets.

"… to hurry… -ort on time… territory…"

It wheels around suddenly, the little triangles encircling its singular eye spin rapidly as if in distress. The blue glyph then focuses on him and it flashes faster than before. He gives the softball sized thing a confused look when a rather large shadow falls over them both.

 _Guess we're back for round two,_ he thinks and tries to push up off the ground. His body shakes as it attempts to hold his weight again. His legs wobble terribly and he sways, nearly losing his balance when the shadow of whoever came up on them catches him. He felt as clumsy as a newborn calf. Must've been one too many drinks. Still didn't explain the white ball that kept chirping erratically at him. Probably some newfangled drone that kids were getting nowadays and he just happened to be the one guy they decided to annoy.

Maybe it belonged to these people and they thought he was trying to take it. He opens his mouth to try and explain the situation when something hard and fast slams into his gut. Just as he doubles over, another strike slams in between his shoulder blades. A hiss of air escapes him and he drops back to the ground, arms wrapped instinctively about his waist as he hits the pavement once more. His hearing finally returned and he could pick up on an odd series of high pitched squeaks followed by barks and low growls. Whoever was making that noise sounded like a mix between a hyena and a cat. And it sounded like it originated from the person in front of him.

He tries to get back up, to try and defend himself, before he takes another harsh blow from behind; a sharp kick to the kidneys. He cries out which hardly seemed to matter and curls in on himself when he feels his weak and bruised body hauled up with surprising ease.

"What…?" He then comes face to face with something he'd never seen before. It didn't seem real and for a hopeful moment he almost thinks he's hallucinating. Four glowing white eyes stare back at him as if the individual was just as curious as he was about the other guy. The… man? The guy seemed to be wearing an odd apparatus that made him look like a wolf. A large flowing cape billowed out behind him and he could feel two pairs of hands – or were they claws? – holding onto him. What the hell?

Then a noise that sounded like the barking equivalent of chortling laughter catches his attention and the leader, the one holding him had to be just that given his appearance, looks down at another one. The second guy was spindly one and was wearing a similar apparatus around his mouth just as well and… he had four arms. What the hell had he been drinking? The lackey holds up the white ball who seemed to be freaking out. It kept trying to shake itself free of the lackey's grip but to no avail. The guy kept a tight hold on it. The leader lets out a low bark and removes one claw from his body and twitches two fingers in a "give it here" gesture. The machine is passed onto him and the leader holds the thing up to eye level between what had to have been his index and middle fingers and his thumb before the tips slice through the white chassis.

The blue optic sputters a few times before dying and the leader flings it away. He could hear it hit the concrete about ten feet away and, strangely, he felt as if he lost something when it was crushed. Why?  
A snarling growl causes him to look back at the leader whose free hand had gone to draw sickeningly looking long knife. It looked like electricity danced across its edge but that had to be a trick of the light. Right? A horrible, cold feeling settles deep in his stomach as he comes to the conclusion: These guys came back to finish the job since the last hit didn't send him off like they wanted. Or were these not the same guys as before?

Four arms, the claws and barks. It had to have been his mind playing tricks on him. These… people didn't look like your regular passerby. They looked like… aliens. Inhuman and the noises they make didn't help their case much. Maybe they were part of the same gang and were sent in to clean up the mess only to find their victim was still breathing despite the blood loss and severe trauma.

"Wai… Wait," he tries to say. "I have… I have money. Pl-please." God, it was hard to focus on speaking. It was like his mouth was full of molasses, making it hard to form words. It didn't seem like any of them were interested for the knife disappeared from view. A split second later, white hot pain centered just below his rib cage flowers throughout his body and he's thrown, shoved deeper into the alleyway.

A steady staccato beat echoes off the walls and the men, the aliens, whoever they are, spin on their heels and leave him there on his side. Blood begins puddling all around him, soaking his clothes.  
This is what happened last time, right then?

 _So… I'm dying again, aren't I?_

It was odd but comforting thought. Maybe he just passed out the last time and now he was dying for real? His mind could hardly process everything that had just taken place in the short time that he regained consciousness to the present. His eyes flutter shut even as he tries to keep them open but he felt so damned tired. He'd probably feel better in a couple hours. Before he knew it, his eyelids had drooped shut and his body sags as he takes what had to have been his last breath when –

"Thank the Traveler. I finally found you. Easy. You've been gone for a… very, very long time. Things probably aren't what they were before when you were awake previously. I'm Bast and we need to move. Now."


End file.
